Spring hidden in small hands
The green radish on the balcony once again sprouted new buds, and the leaves on the new buds were very fresh and shiny in the morning light. Six-year-old Tangtang squatted next to the flower pot, very carefully poked a small hole in the soil with her fingers, and then took out a soybean from her pocket, which she had secretly hidden while peeling the beans last night.
"Mom, I want to plant a hope ." She raised her little face, her eyes shining with seriousness. I watched her put the beans into the hole and cover them with soil little by little. Her pious look seemed to be performing a sacred ceremony. At this time, I suddenly remembered that when I was a child, I had planted watermelon seeds with such expectation . I watered it every day, talked to it, and hoped that it would grow a big watermelon. The innocence of childhood probably lies in believing that everything good will happen.
In the beginning, the first thing Tangtang did when she got up every day was to rush to the balcony to look at her beans, "Mom, when will it come out?" She lay on the balcony, her face pressed against the edge of the flower pot. I told her that you have to give it time, just like when you were a child in your mother's belly, you also have to grow up slowly. She nodded in understanding and ran to get the water. The water droplets fell on the leaves like dewdrops in the morning.
On the morning of the fifth day, the entire family was awakened by Tangtang's scream. Tangtang stood on the balcony with her bare feet, pointing at the little buds that had just emerged from the ground. She was so excited that she shouted incoherently, "It's out! It's out!". The two cotyledons, which were bright yellow and stained with soil, stretched towards the sun full of stubbornness. I suddenly had a feeling in my heart. My husband was holding his mobile phone high to take pictures, and my grandma was in the kitchen, sticking her head out with a smile. This ordinary, ordinary morning, because of this tiny, living life, really became special and extra warm.
"Mom, plants need to drink water, right?" Now, Tangtang can water all the flowers by herself, and can also talk to those flowers: "You must grow vigorously, and I will come to see you again tomorrow." Sometimes when it rains, she is eager to move the flowers indoors; if there is sunshine, she hurries to move them outside. Grandma said that the child cared more about flowers than toys. I think this is probably the first sign of love and responsibility.
Yesterday evening, I took Tangtang to the vegetable market. The old lady selling vegetables recognized her and gave her a handful of green onions with a smile on her face and said, "This girl is always smiling when she comes here. It makes people happy just to see her." Tangtang hugged the green onions and suddenly asked, "Grandma, did you grow your vegetables yourself?" The old lady nodded and said seriously: "I also plant beans, and they have grown so tall." There was an extremely proud expression on the little face, while gesticulating, at that specific moment, the noisy and noisy sounds in the vegetable market seemed to have suddenly quieted down, leaving only a simple conversation between the children and the old lady selling vegetables, surrounding the planting.
On the way home, Tangtang suddenly pointed to the sunset on the horizon and said, "Look, Mom, the clouds are glowing with light." Indeed, the orange-red clouds were rimmed with gold by the setting sun, gently covering the small town. When passing by the garden of the community, there were several old people sitting on benches talking, children were chasing an orange cat, and a young mother pushed a stroller slowly past. These ordinary scenes are coated with a layer of warmth in the sunset.
In the evening, I took Tangtang to take a bath. At this moment, she suddenly said: "Mom, I know the reason why seeds germinate." I asked with a curious expression, and she said seriously: "It is because there is love in the soil and there is such a thing as waiting." I was stunned for a while, and then my eyes became slightly warm.
Before going to bed, she lay on the window sill and listened to the wind for a while, and then suddenly and mysteriously beckoned me over and said, "Mom, listen, the wind is telling a story." I quickly put my ear close, and sure enough, the night wind passed through the green plants on the balcony, making a slight rustling sound, especially the sound of distant waves. This reminds me of holding a conch to my ear when I was a child and listening to the "whispers of the sea" inside. It turns out that the poetic sentiment endowed by nature has always been there, but those of us who are busy all day often forget to stop our hurried steps and listen.
After Tangtang settled down, I went to the balcony again to look at the small bean seedling. Under the moonlight, it stood quietly, with water droplets left over from the evening watering hanging on the leaves. I recalled what Tangtang had asked during the day, Mom, can my beans grow to the sky? I said that as long as you take good care of it, it will continue to grow.
It was late at night, and the sound of Tangtang's breathing came from next door, and her breathing was even. There is a small seedling on the balcony, which is still growing quietly. Seedlings, like all life nourished by love, silently accumulate the power to break out of the ground in invisible places.
This is probably the most beautiful gift that life has given us. This gift is that when a life is accompanied and grown, one's own heart also sprouts and grows quietly.
Comments NOTHING